To Find Yourself
by Eledhwen
Summary: Luc Tarpeau returns to Paris - to build his future and remember his past with Angelus. **Chapter 5: Drusilla arrives in Paris.**
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** Angelus and any other characters you recognise are not mine, they belong to the great Joss and friends. Luc Tarpeau is my creation, and if you steal him, remember he's evil. Not worth nicking, really. :)  
  
**Author's notes:** You see, he wouldn't let go of me. Any idea what it's like having a charming vampire looking over your shoulder constantly, asking for more stories? I don't recommend it. On y va, alors - part five in Luc's tale. For newcomers to the Breton saga, the series begins with _Les Chroniques Parisiennes_, in which Luc Tarpeau becomes servant to Angelus, and continues with _The Breton_, which goes wildly AU as we follow Luc across the centuries to Los Angeles. Next up we meet Mike Fletcher, Council agent on a mission to Sunnydale, in _Death Awaits_, before _Retribution_ is given and received. Which brings us up to date. Luc has returned to Paris, and the very building in which he served Angelus, and died, all those years before. Read on, and do let me know what you think. Thanks._  
  
**Chapter 1**  
  
Luc Tarpeau squared his shoulders and stepped into the hotel in which he had died. Once a _hôtel particulier_, now it was simply a hotel. Somewhere to stay. Somewhere to restart an unlife torn apart by the Slayer.  
  
What had once been the hallway, lit with candles and leading the way into the sumptuous salons, was now the hotel reception. Luc put down his bag and surveyed it, his feelings of sadness at the manner of his return mixed with nostalgia and a certain amount of gleeful anticipation at what lay ahead of him.  
  
He rang the bell on the reception desk, and shortly a middle-aged woman, dressed in Chanel, emerged and smiled up at him.  
  
"Luc Tarpeau," said Luc. "I have a reservation."  
  
"But of course!" she said. "Welcome. I'm Madame Orlov. May I see your passport?" Luc passed it over, and she busied herself writing down his details before handing the forged document back. "How will you be paying?"  
  
"Credit card, when I leave," Luc said, confident that he would not have to pay anything. The woman smiled and he fished out the card anyway so she could make a note of the number. "My trunk's outside, madame; I wonder if someone could bring it up for me? It needs two people."  
  
"Certainly, monsieur!" she said, dimpling a smile at him. "You're in room 12," she said, taking a key from a row of hooks. "I think you'll like it. This way!"  
  
They passed doors and she rattled off a list of functions: "Dining room. Breakfast. There's a residents' lounge in there. Library."  
  
Luc listened with half his mind, naming the rooms in his own mind - salon, music room, Angelus' study. He followed her upstairs, glancing at the décor, which was surprisingly similar to how he had known it. They paused on the second landing outside a door, and Luc found himself staring at the door to the room that had once been Angelus' bedroom. The room in which Luc himself had died.  
  
Madame Orlov unlocked the door and passed Luc the key. "Here we are ... come in. The bathroom is through there, you have a television and a fridge," she opened cupboards, "and just call if you need anything. I'll have your trunk brought up directly."  
  
"Thank you," Luc said, and she smiled again and hurried away. Luc put down his bag and breathed in.  
  
The room smelled neutral, of disinfectant and old perfume. Instead of the deep red which Angelus had favoured, it was papered in pale blue and the bedspread was dark blue. There were some pretty views of Paris on the walls - nondescript watercolours - and a vase of flowers on a sideboard.  
  
Luc investigated the cupboards and discovered a small kettle with some biscuits and sachets of coffee and tea. In the fridge there were the usual overpriced miniatures of spirits, and there was a copy of the Bible in French in a bedside drawer. Luc used his handkerchief to push this to the back of the drawer, out of the way, before turning to his bag.  
  
Most of his belongings were in the trunk, but he unfolded the sketch of himself that Angelus had drawn, and with a piece of blu-tack attached it to the mirror on the top of the sideboard. A small pile of books found a home next to the mirror.  
  
Luc took off his jacket and hung it in the empty wardrobe, smoothing the sleeves gently, and then unbuttoned his collar and took off the tie he was wearing. Crossing to the window, he opened the curtains (also blue) and then the windows, and looked out at the Parisian night.  
  
The view was a lot lighter than in the old days, he reflected. Raised above the city, the towers of Notre Dame were floodlit, and Luc could just see the glowing pyramids outside the Louvre. Closer to him, the streets of the Marais were dimmer, but there was a steady scattering of neon red and blue. But it was still Paris; still ultimately the same city.  
  
He was roused from his reverie by a tap at the door. Opening it, he saw Madame Orlov, accompanied by two young men with his trunk. He let them in and saw them out again. For a moment he contemplated unpacking now, but changed his mind and simply changed his shirt, before slipping out himself in search of dinner.  
  
This part of the city seemed to have changed very little since he had last been there. The same narrow side streets, the same sandstone buildings. It was only the people who had moved on - instead of fashionable nobility, the Marais was now populated by the fashionable middle-class. Luc chose the darker streets, looking, this first night, for someone who would not be missed. He planned to stay in Paris a while, and rousing suspicions the very night of arrival by picking a meal with family did not seem like a good idea.  
  
He returned to the hotel well before dawn and showered in the luxurious bathroom, fitted in the small room that was once Angelus's dressing chamber, before throwing back the covers and sliding into the bed. Luc fell at once into sleep, and into dreams.  
  
* * *  
  
_Paris, 1838_  
  
He woke gradually, a spark coming to life deep inside him and slowly rousing all his senses. He was lying on something soft and comfortable, far softer than his normal bed, and for a moment he simply revelled in the luxury before questioning the why.  
  
Then he remembered, and opened his eyes.  
  
"You're awake." The voice was soft, slightly accented.  
  
Luc tested his wrists and discovered he was still tied to the bedposts. "I thought you'd killed me," he said, turning his head.  
  
Angelus smiled, and rose from his seat. He had changed his clothes and was now wearing a spotless white shirt with a ruffled collar. "But I did," he said.  
  
Luc fought the rising panic and managed to stay calm. He explored his body mentally, searching for pain where he had been bitten, for the throb in his fingers where they had been broken. Nothing. He stared upwards, at the burgundy canopy of the bed, and took a breath.  
  
The resulting bout of coughing brought Angelus to the edge of the bed. "You don't need that any longer, Luc."  
  
Swallowing, Luc grimaced. "Apparently not. What happened?"  
  
Angelus bent, and Luc flinched involuntarily, but the other merely leaned over and began to untie the ropes binding Luc's wrists and ankles. "I turned you. Be honoured, you're only the second one."  
  
"You mean ..."  
  
"Welcome to the night," Angelus said, cheerfully, untying Luc's left hand. "I came to the conclusion that such courage shouldn't be wasted. By betraying me, you've earned yourself eternal life." He coiled the ropes, and Luc sat up slowly. His head was spinning, and he felt a hunger he could never remember feeling before. "Or, to be more precise, eternal death, but it's a figure of speech."  
  
"Oh." Luc rubbed his forehead. "Remind me to thank you later." He looked around the room. "What time is it?"   
  
"Nearly dusk. Time to get you changed - those clothes are covered in blood - before we go hunting."  
  
At the mention of blood Luc's stomach had turned, and he closed his eyes and slowly breathed in. Yes, he could smell it now, a heady, coppery scent; and with it something lurched inside him.  
  
Angelus grinned. "Hungry?"  
  
"Yes," Luc said. "God, yes." His voice sounded odd, and he put a hand up and felt his teeth carefully. "Oh."  
  
"Just concentrate on turning it back," Angelus said gently. "There's time enough to use them later. In a while, it'll be second nature." His features flickered from human to demon and back again. Luc frowned, and thought about his old face, his human face, the one he would never see again, and a moment later found that it seemed to have returned.  
  
"Have I done it?" he asked.  
  
"You've done it," Angelus said. "Good. Now, wash, change, and we'll go and eat."  
  
Luc found a smile spreading across his face. "_D'accord_," he said. "Let's go and eat." 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
**Chapter 2**  
  
Luc woke at noon when the chambermaid tapped on his door. After asking her to wait he got up, showered and dressed, and let her in while he prowled the house to see what had changed, and what had not.  
  
He started on the top floor, where his small and dingy room seemed to have been transformed into another hotel room. There was a number on the door, at least, and though Luc contemplated breaking down the door and going in he turned away. Not yet.  
  
Downstairs, he went into the "library", Angelus' study. Last time Luc had seen it the wood-panelled walls were being emptied of their books in preparation for his sire's departure. Now he found it sunny and bright, the cream-coloured curtains hooked up to allow daylight to stream into the room. There were still books, but once he had sidled along the walls, closed the curtains, and gone to the shelves to investigate, he found a disappointing collection of French and English classics, and romantic novels, mixed with a few on the history of Paris. Luc took a couple of the latter off the shelves and flicked through them.  
  
Turning around, he noticed some board games tucked on a bottom shelf, and a number of deep armchairs. Evidently the room was used for after-dinner entertainment - just like the old days, Luc reflected, remembering the time he had stumbled in on Angelus and a pretty blonde in the study. That had been while he was still alive, and he had muttered an apology and rushed away. Strangely, Angelus had never mentioned the incident.  
  
Luc left the curtains closed and went back into the hallway. He put his nose into the "residents' lounge" and found it a bookless version of the library, with more games and a television. The décor was modern and stylish, and the room (in Luc's day, it had been the music room) had none of its former atmosphere.  
  
He sighed, and went back to his own room, finding the chambermaid was just leaving. She had opened the curtains and hooked them back, and Luc hovered by the door in the shade. He caught her arm as she was going out. "Could you close those again?"  
  
"Monsieur?" The chambermaid turned a pair of confused dark eyes to his face. Luc smiled.  
  
"I'm not a sun-lover. Very sensitive skin."  
  
"Oh." She put down the pile of dirty laundry and obligingly closed the curtains. Luc thanked her, and she left.  
  
He sat down in the comfortable armchair provided, and stared into space for a moment. He needed a plan, he needed something to do. Something to take his mind away from the still-present ache deep inside him. And then, he had an idea.  
  
Luc made the call two hours later, when he judged the time difference had ceased to matter. The telephone was answered quickly, and he only had to wait a short time while he was put through.   
  
"Lindsey McDonald." A tap as a coffee cup was put down.  
  
"Mr McDonald," said Luc, "this is Luc Tarpeau."  
  
"I suppose I should offer my condolences," the lawyer said, with a smile in his voice.  
  
"Wolfram and Hart have good connections," Luc returned.  
  
"I'm not going to miss the bastard," Lindsey McDonald said.  
  
"I am," Luc said softly.  
  
"I thought you'd fired me," said the lawyer, and Luc heard a pen scratching across paper.  
  
"I decided you could still be of use," Luc said. "I need you to find someone for me."  
  
A laugh from across the world. "Let me guess. Drusilla."  
  
"Good guess," said Luc, impressed despite himself. "Let me put this plainly, Mr McDonald. With Darla and Angelus ... gone ... I believe I am now the head of my Order. Unless you've been resurrecting others in my family?"  
  
"No, Darla was the only one," said Lindsey McDonald. "Go on."  
  
"I am therefore," Luc said, "interested in using that power. Drusilla is my closest family. I want her by my side. Find her, and we'll continue using your firm."  
  
"I'll ask her to call you," the lawyer said. "When we find her."  
  
Luc smiled to himself, and gave McDonald his number.  
  
* * *  
  
_Paris, 1838_  
  
Angelus waved his arm expansively. "This is your playground, Luc. It's no longer an enemy. You're never going to be hungry again, never cold, never lonely. You can have anyone and anything you choose."  
  
"I must admit," Luc said, feeling the soft edge of his new jacket appreciatively, "I like this."  
  
His sire smiled, dark eyes sparkling. "Who would not like it? And you, you are luckier than most, Luc."  
  
"Because of you?" Luc said, hazarding a guess that he thought would please his sire.  
  
"Because of me, partly," Angelus agreed. "But also because of our line. Family history, Luc. Darla's sire is a wrinkled walnut, but he has power."  
  
Luc was intrigued. "A walnut?"   
  
"He's so old he's forgotten how to blend in with the food," Angelus explained, with a laugh. "Bat-faced and fangs. Horrible thing, thinks too much of himself. He calls himself the Master - and though I can't stand him, nor him me, I have to acknowledge that title."  
  
"What's he the master of?" asked Luc.  
  
"Our Order," Angelus said, becoming serious all of a sudden. "The Order of Aurelius. Few vampires these days belong to any order, or group. They're weaker, pathetic beings. We -" he looked hard at Luc, to make sure the point was getting across, "we come from a stronger, older bloodline. We have power. Not only over humans, over our kind also."   
  
"Where does he live?" Luc said, fascinated.  
  
"Vienna, I think, at the moment. I saw him in London, but he moved." Angelus watched a woman go by and licked his lips. "Was shipped out in a box, if you can believe it. Darla's been to see him. I don't bother."  
  
"But shouldn't you show some deference, or something?" said Luc. "If he's the Order's Master?"  
  
Angelus stopped walking, and put his hands on Luc's shoulders. "_Bonjour,_" he said. "_Je m'appelle Angelus._ Have I failed to introduce myself?" He leaned close to Luc. "Luc, my boy, people bow to me, not me to them. If you have any sense, you'll remember that."  
  
Luc nodded. "Yes. I'll remember." He wondered, briefly, whether torture would hurt in his current state, and then thought that probably Angelus knew as many ways of hurting a vampire as he did a human.  
  
"Enough talking," Angelus said, starting to walk again. "Time to eat."  
  
Hurrying to catch up, Luc stored the new information about the Order of Aurelius in his mind, and hoped that one day it would come in useful. 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. To compensate, it's a little longer than the first two._  
  
**Chapter 3**  
  
Luc reached an arm out of bed and picked up his mobile phone, which was beeping insistently. "Oui?"  
  
There was no immediate answer, and Luc heard no sound of breathing. He hazarded a guess. "Drusilla?"  
  
"Luc?" A giggle. "Oooh, I can hear your voice ..."  
  
"It's called a telephone, Dru." Luc sat up, propping pillows behind his back. "Did Lindsey speak to you?"  
  
"Such a sweet boy," she murmured.  
  
"You didn't kill him? Tell me you didn't kill him," Luc said.  
  
"No ... but I wanted to, and he knew I wanted to." Dru sounded gleeful. "Where's everyone, Luc? I had a horrid dream, full of dust and ash. Where's Daddy?"  
  
Luc rubbed a hand across his face. "They're all dead, Dru."  
  
"Silly Luc." She laughed. "Of course they're all dead. They're like us!"  
  
"Dru, listen to me," Luc said, wondering that for once she hadn't realised exactly what had happened. "It was the Slayer, and her friends. They're all gone. Angelus, and Darla, and Spike."  
  
A wail cut at his ears. "Daddy? My Spike? Grandmum?"  
  
"Yes, Dru."  
  
For a while she sobbed, and he listened to the sound helplessly. After a few minutes, he spoke again. "Dru. Dru!"  
  
The sobs subsided a little.  
  
"Dru, I want you to come to Paris," Luc said. "I'm here, I can look after you. I've got a plan to avenge them. Will you come? Is there someone who can bring you?"  
  
"I'm a big girl," she said defiantly, sniffing. "I can get there on my own."  
  
"Well," Luc said, rather wondering whether that was the case, "just let me know when you're going to arrive, then. And try not to kill anyone on the way."  
  
"We'll have such fun!" she said, apparently forgetting her grief. "I like French people."   
  
"Good. Just ... think of the future, Dru," Luc said. "I'll see you soon."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"Turn the phone off now, Dru," said Luc.  
  
There was a pause, and then a click. He lay back with a sigh.  
  
Luc dressed carefully that evening, in black with a deep red shirt. He tied his hair back with a ribbon to match the shirt and completed the ensemble with Angelus' leather coat. He grinned at the empty mirror and went out.  
  
He had known the bar existed for years. In vampiric circles, the names and locations of such establishments were well known. Places to avoid, mostly, but also places to get a quick bite if emergency struck. There had been one in Sunnydale, once: both Spike and Angelus had mentioned it, the latter with scorn and the former with his usual laconic glee. Luc himself had always found the idea of visiting one of the bars intriguing.  
  
It was easy to find, down a sidestreet in the Marais with a neon-red sign blinking over the doorway. Inside, on the ground floor, a number of people sat drinking, but Luc could hear music from below and felt the vibration of a bass beat in his feet.  
  
Sliding on to a stool at the bar, Luc ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, looking around him. Along the bar there was a girl, talking earnestly in a low voice to her male companion. After a short while the man got up and left, and the girl sat alone swirling what was left of her drink in her glass, allowing Luc time to take her appearance in fully. She was young, maybe eighteen, and dressed in an old-fashioned black corset top that showed off her generous cleavage to effect, and left her neck bare. Luc smiled to himself and ran his tongue over his lips.  
  
The girl saw him watching her and turned. "Salut," she said. "You're new here."  
  
"Bonsoir," Luc returned. "Yes, I am."  
  
"Nadine." The girl stuck out her hand, and Luc took it briefly.  
  
"Luc," he introduced himself.  
  
"Nice shirt," Nadine said. She paused. "So, why're you here?"  
  
"I heard about this place," Luc said. "I was interested."  
  
"Interested how?" Nadine asked, scooting her stool closer to Luc's and leaning over, lowering her voice.   
  
Luc shrugged. "Interested generally."  
  
"You're not a journalist?" she said, her tone full of suspicion. Luc laughed.  
  
"No, I'm not a journalist."  
  
"Honest?"  
  
He spread his hands and showed her the inside of his jacket. "See? No recorder, no notebook."  
  
"We had a journalist once," Nadine said, relaxing a little. "Bastard. He wrote a load of lies."  
  
Luc finished his beer. "I won't write anything. But I would like to see downstairs."  
  
"Says something, that you know about downstairs," Nadine said. "Okay." She drained her glass and stood up, collecting a small bag from her side.  
  
Luc followed her down the narrow stairs and through a door, into the downstairs bar. It was a little smoky, and dark, lit by red lamps. There were a few mirrors on the wall and Luc frowned at them as he went past, reflecting how incongruous they were in this sort of place.  
  
Banquettes were set around the wall, and Luc saw a number of couples entwined. On the dance floor people swayed to some sort of hypnotic trance music, which made him wince. Nadine took his hand, hesitantly, and drew him over to an empty seat.  
  
"Well?" she said.  
  
"Much as I expected," Luc said, critically. He turned to face Nadine. "Who's in charge here?"  
  
"In charge?" she said.  
  
"The manager, the boss," he repeated. "There must be someone."  
  
Nadine looked confused. "What do you want? You don't need to ask him, if you want a donor - that is what you want, isn't it?"  
  
"A donor?" Luc laughed. "Nadine, chérie, if I wanted to feed I'd go and hunt. Take me to him, and you'll find out sooner why I'm here."  
  
She had lost her air of flirtatiousness now, and silently led him across the room to an enclosed corner booth, upholstered in red velvet. A blond vampire in leather was bent over the neck of a skinny boy, but he looked up as Luc arrived. Nadine hurried away again.  
  
"Get lost," the vampire said in English.  
  
"Send him away," Luc returned, sliding into the booth. He held the other vampire's gaze. "Send him away."  
  
The blond vampire picked up a napkin from the table, wiped his mouth, and pushed a handful of money into the boy's hand. "Go on," he said, and the boy took the money and vanished. "Well?"  
  
"My name's Luc Tarpeau," Luc introduced himself.  
  
"Charles Schmidt," the other vampire said. "You're new, go and grab yourself a neck."  
  
"I didn't come here for that," Luc said.  
  
"Well, tell me what you did come for and get lost," Schmidt said, screwing his napkin into a ball and throwing it on to the table.  
  
"I've come to recruit," Luc said. "My sire was Angelus."  
  
"Pull the other one," said Schmidt laconically. "He's dead. Or gone soft. I never knew which story to believe."  
  
"He's dead, now," Luc explained, his voice even. "But he was my sire. I am now the Master of my order, and I'm recruiting. Spread the word."  
  
Schmidt folded his arms. "That an order? From some newcomer with daft claims?"  
  
Luc stood up and looked calmly down at the other, but when he spoke he allowed some of his sire's steel into his voice. "I was in this city before your mother was born. Spread the word. I'm at the Hôtel de la Rose, a few streets away. Salut, mon petit."  
  
He grinned, and left Schmidt staring after him.  
  
* * *  
  
_Paris, 1838_  
  
"You are always the one in control," Angelus said, one hand suppressing the screams of the servant girl he had pinned against the wall. "Always you, never them. Whether vampire or human." He bent and bit. "Got that?" he asked, straightening with bloody lips.  
  
Luc nodded. "Oui."  
  
Angelus dropped the girl's body on the ground. "I think you have. You've learned well, my boy."  
  
He took Luc's arm and they wandered out of the alleyway into the evening crowds.  
  
"Darla and I are going back to London soon," Angelus said. "She's bored, and I want to hear English voices again. Will you come?"  
  
"Do I have to?" Luc asked, thinking the answer would surely be yes.  
  
"Not if you don't want to," Angelus replied. "I think you'll do well, wherever you go." He smiled, lopsidedly and fondly. "If you come, I'll be glad. Darla will be less glad. But if you don't, you could write. I can send you money, should you need it."  
  
"Let me think about it," Luc said.  
  
His sire nodded. "Think about it. I'm still hungry, you? Now, let's see ... that boy over there?"  
  
They exchanged grins, and headed off towards their victim. 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
**Chapter 4**  
  
"Madame Orlov!" Luc said. The hotel manager turned, gave him a beaming smile, and crossed the lobby to greet him.  
  
"Monsieur Tarpeau - I hope you're having a pleasant stay?"  
  
"Wonderful, thank you. I just wanted to check with you that it was all right for my girlfriend to come and share my room. She's got some time off work, unexpectedly."  
  
"It's a double room," Madame Orlov said, shrugging. "No problem. When will she be arriving?"  
  
"In a few days," Luc replied. "Thank you." He smiled, and made to go up to his room, but she stopped him.  
  
"I wasn't sure whether you were aware that here we do a very good dinner for our guests. We've missed seeing you there, monsieur. I wonder - do you have plans for this evening?"  
  
Luc thought that possibly Madame Orlov as dinner would be a good plan, but refrained from mentioning it. "I hadn't yet decided," he said.  
  
"Eight o'clock, then?" she said.  
  
"Looking forward to it," Luc lied smoothly.  
  
Lying in his room that afternoon, he reflected that he had probably keep the dinner date just to maintain appearances, but he knew it would be tedious. He closed his eyes and dreamed of something more appetising.  
  
Promptly at eight, he made his way downstairs to the dining room, where a long table had been set up. For a second, Luc wondered whether he had been whisked back in time to one of Angelus' infamous dinner parties, but the sight of two very modern and very well turned-out couples brought him back to reality. He introduced himself and took a seat next to the more attractive of the two women, and made small talk about the weather until the rest of the guests had arrived.  
  
The meal was standard fare - pâté, followed by a coq au vin, with sorbet as dessert. Luc ate as little as he could, chewing the tasteless food with distaste whilst his companions exclaimed over the cooking. Luckily there was some good wine to wash the food down.  
  
Three of the guests had been to Montmartre that day, and for a while the conversation centred around the exploitation of tourists. Painters in the Place du Tertre were apparently charging ridiculous prices for portraits or bad watercolours of Paris.  
  
"But they've been doing that for years - haven't they?" Luc asked, amused.  
  
"It's got worse!" someone said, raising their fork importantly. "We're being fleeced; eaten alive."  
  
Luc smiled into his wine and thought what an apt metaphor that was.  
  
His neighbour turned to him, breaking herself off from the conversation, and fluttered her eyelashes (probably fake) flirtatiously. "So, monsieur Tarpeau, what do you do? I'm sure it's perfectly fascinating. Is it what's keeping you from us every night?"  
  
"This and that," Luc said. "My evenings tend to be taken up with business." She looked interested, and he elaborated, generously. "I sell art, for a friend - mostly over drinks or a meal. It provides a more convivial atmosphere."   
  
"It sounds positively wonderful."  
  
"It's less exciting than it sounds," Luc returned. "But it means I can travel."  
  
"You're French, though?" she asked.   
  
He nodded. "Breton, to be precise. And we usually are. To most of the world, these small distinctions matter little, but to me, it's important."  
  
"How thrilling!" she said. "Georges, that's my husband," she gestured vaguely with her elbow at the stolid man on her left, "is a banker. Marseille. Very dull, but the coast is a delightful place to live."  
  
"Marseille is lovely," Luc agreed, remembering the last time he had been there. Some sixty years before, as the Germans moved in - the town had been full of panic and fear, and he had thrived on it for several months. He had left when the rationing made the people too thin and undernourished to make decent meals.  
  
"Oh, we don't live in Marseille itself!" the woman said, her voice radiating horror. "We have a house in the country."  
  
Luc smiled, and wondered if he could get the couple's address, and pay them a surprise visit.  
  
She asked him where he had travelled to, and Luc gave her a carefully edited, and much abbreviated, version of his journeys. That whiled away the rest of the meal, and at the end he excused himself from coffee.  
  
Slipping out into the night, Luc loosened his tie and stretched, before beginning to scan the crowds for a proper meal. He spotted a pretty blonde in a green dress, alone, and set off after her.  
  
* * *   
  
_Paris, 1838_  
  
Luc's old black suit felt strange compared to the velvets and silks he had become accustomed to, but he appreciated the ruse and was quite enjoying playing the servant for one last night.  
  
Angelus and Darla were giving a dinner party, the last before they left Paris for good. Luc had decided not to go with them. Reluctantly, but true to his word, Angelus had agreed. Darla seemed better pleased with the idea. And between them, they had decided upon one last celebration.  
  
Luc moved silently round the table, and poured more wine. Angelus smiled at him, the smile lingering as Luc took the empty carafe out to the kitchen to collect the dessert. Once he had returned with the chocolate cake, and had served it to the guests, he retreated to the back of the room where he unobtrusively locked the doors, and waited.  
  
Angelus stood up, and raised his glass. "Well, my friends, it has been a delightful evening."  
  
Darla coughed into her napkin, and Luc suppressed a grin.  
  
"As always," one of the guests said.  
  
"But," Angelus continued, "it was the last evening. The last party. Darla and I are going back to London."  
  
There were exclamations of dismay. "But why?" one matronly woman in wine-red taffeta said, taking out a dainty lace handkerchief.  
  
"We're bored. Paris has been fun, but the fun's over," Angelus said, smiling charmingly at her.  
  
One of the men, his hand playing with his wine glass, looked up. "Are you selling this house?"  
  
"I'd rather have your servant!" a lady said, laughing. Luc made a mental note of her, but Angelus' smile never wavered.  
  
"Luc's not for sale. As for the house - well, I can guarantee none of you will have it." More exclamations. Angelus held up his hand for silence. "It never ceases to amaze me how blind you all are. Someone new arrives in an area. People begin to die in curious ways. On a sunny day, I arrive to an afternoon salon in a coach with curtains. I don't eat much."  
  
Twelve pairs of eyes went to his plate, where half a piece of cake still lay. Luc and Darla watched the guests instead. The women had paled, the men looked curious and furious.  
  
"And nobody manages to put two and two together, although I have noticed an increase in the number of crucifixes around," Angelus continued, putting his glass down and beginning to walk around the table, pacing as graceful as a cat. "None of you possessed the intelligence to work it out."  
  
"Now wait just a minute!"  
  
"Work what out?" The indignant voices came together.  
  
Angelus leaned down to the latter speaker. "This, monsieur." His face shifted, the fangs bared.   
  
The women around the table screamed, and the men pushed back their chairs and moved back. One of them came to Luc by the door.  
  
"Open it, for God's sake!"  
  
"I don't think I will," Luc returned cheerfully.  
  
"But you, you're one of us," the man said, desperately. "You must help!"  
  
"I was never one of you," Luc said. "You ignored me; I was part of the furnishings. Now, I'm better than you."  
  
"Much better," Angelus said, straightening and letting his human face show again. "You were better than them to start with, my Luc."  
  
"Angelus, darling, can't we just get on with it?" Darla said, yawning.  
  
He came across the room to her, and kissed her. There were shocked noises from the guests, and Luc laughed out loud.  
  
Angelus broke off the kiss. "Let's eat!" he said, and the women screamed again. Luc grinned, and crossed the room to the woman who had asked whether he was available.  
  
"Luc Tarpeau," he said to her, bowing slightly. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, madame."  
  
She got up from the table, and backed away from him. Her red skirts rustled, and Luc stepped forward and caught her round the waist. She smelt enticingly of roses, and he bent to nuzzle her neck before he allowed his true face to show. The woman went limp as Luc bit, and he swallowed with pleasure.  
  
They finished an hour later, and sat down. Darla leaned back into Angelus' arms, and licked her lips. Luc let his head rest on his sire's shoulder, and the three vampires surveyed their handiwork with pleasure.  
  
"Farewell, Paris," said Angelus. "I won't miss it." 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
**Chapter 4**  
  
Luc rented a car, a neat little convertible, to pick Drusilla up from the airport. He did not think that she would be able to get herself into the city alone. Lindsey McDonald had taken control of buying her a plane ticket, and informing the airline that his client had a rare skin disorder meaning she was very sensitive to light. Luc only hoped that Drusilla had listened to the lawyer, and stayed put in her seat during the flight.  
  
He found the flight was on time, and waited in the arrivals lounge for her. Most of the other passengers had come through Customs before Drusilla appeared, dressed in a long black coat over a long red dress, and looking tired.  
  
"Dru!" he called, and she saw him and ran over, leaving her bags on the floor.  
  
"Luc," she said, eyes brimming with tears. He took her in his arms.  
  
"Shh, Dru, what's wrong?"  
  
"I don't like flying," she said, pitifully. "So close to the sun, too close."  
  
"Well, it's night here," he reassured her, going to fetch her valise and small black handbag. "Come on, Dru, and once we've left your things at the hotel, we'll go and find someone to eat."  
  
She brightened up at this idea, and clung to his arm as they headed out to the car. On the road, she cheered up even more, and started singing along tunelessly to the radio, her head back so she could see the stars. Luc glanced at her from time to time, and smiled indulgently.  
  
Madame Orlov was behind the front desk when they reached the hotel, doing some bookwork. She offered them a broad smile. Luc introduced Drusilla as his girlfriend from England, declined a meal, and hurried Drusilla upstairs.  
  
"I don't like that woman," Drusilla complained, as Luc unpacked her bags for her.  
  
"We'll get rid of her when she stops being useful," Luc said.  
  
Drusilla smiled, running red nails through her hair. "Yes, we will."  
  
Luc turned from the wardrobe, and examined his companion. "Drusilla, how are you?"  
  
"Dead, dead, dead," she said, in a singsong tone.  
  
"Apart from that," Luc said, coming to sit next to her on the bed. "You do remember what I told you, about ... about Angelus, and Darla, and Spike?"  
  
"All dead," Drusilla repeated. "All dust."  
  
Luc nodded. "That's right." He moved to the bed, and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. "And I plan to avenge them, Dru. Together, you and I will pay the Slayer back."  
  
Drusilla scowled. "I hate the Slayer. Their heads were always full of her." She looked at Luc, in surprise. "But yours isn't. Not like them, not like Daddy and my Spike. They were all confused and everything, but you're not."  
  
"_Non_," Luc agreed, "I'm not. I just want to kill her."  
  
"Blood and fire," Drusilla sang happily, her mood changing again. "Nails tearing through flesh ... it makes me tingly. Just like Daddy likes." She smiled, and Luc stood up to finish unpacking. She lay back on the bed, her fingers playing with something invisible in the air.  
  
Luc shook his head, and wondered how Drusilla had managed to survive for such a long time. That she was mad, nobody doubted. Angelus had often described, with glee, the protracted period in which he had stalked, tormented, tortured and finally slaughtered Drusilla and her family. The first time Luc had heard the story, he had not really believed his sire's claims. Then, the story was corroborated by Darla, and even Drusilla referred to parts of it. It had raised Angelus even further in Luc's esteem (if that were possible) and had made him more wary of Drusilla's mood changes.  
  
Nevertheless, when Spike and Drusilla had been in Chicago in the thirties, Luc had enjoyed her company. Very intimate company, on occasion. If he was honest with himself, he thought now as he smoothed the folds of a lace nightdress, he was rather hoping for similar company in Paris.  
  
He closed the wardrobe door. "Ready to go and eat, Dru?"  
  
She licked her lips. "Mmm, yes. Can I have a girl?"  
  
"You can have whoever you like," Luc said, offering her his arm. She grinned, and took it, and they set out.  
  
On the streets, Drusilla set her heart on a small blonde girl in a miniskirt who clearly reminded her of the Slayer. Luc decided that he would be perfectly content with her male companion, and so they began to trail the couple. Down one street, across a road, down another, and then their quarry took a left and headed down a side street, towards a blinking sign in neon magenta. Luc and Drusilla quickened their pace, and caught the couple up before they entered the seedy bar the sign was advertising.  
  
"_Excusez-moi_," Luc said, politely. "_Nous sommes perdus - vous pouvez nous aider, s'il-vous plait_*?"  
  
The man turned, annoyed at being interrupted. "_Non_," he said shortly. Luc grinned at him.  
  
"Oh well," he said. "Dru, _bon appetit_!"  
  
Dru laughed, and let her true face show. The girl screamed and tried to run, but the vampire had her, and bit. The girl's partner was frozen to the spot in horror, and only started to struggle when Luc caught him by the neck.  
  
They left the bodies behind some dustbins, and strolled back to the hotel together, Dru humming a song to herself. Luc smiled fondly at her, remembering.   
  
* * *  
  
_London, 1883_  
  
He was in the library, curtains drawn against the day, when she came in. She was cradling one of her dolls in her arms, and was still wearing a nightgown covered by a thin robe.  
  
Luc looked up, and watched as she settled down on the floor and began to pull the hair out of the doll's head, fibre by fibre. He had been unsettled by her presence when he arrived the previous night. Somehow he had not expected Angelus to have sired another childe, even though they had been apart some fifty years. And that the childe was this girl with a child's mind and the body of a sensual woman ... Luc found himself confused and conflicted.  
  
Drusilla looked up from her doll, and said something in English that included the word "brother". Luc wished his English was better, and contented himself with smiling at her.  
  
From the doorway, there came a laugh. "She's saying that she's pleased to have a new brother," Angelus said in French. "I killed her last one. He screamed most satisfactorily."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Angelus moved further into the room, and Luc looked up at him. His sire looked sleek and well fed, his hair tied back with a ribbon. If the clothes had not changed, Luc would have sworn they were back in Paris.  
  
"You're not so pleased, are you, boy?" Angelus asked.   
  
"It's not that ... not exactly," Luc said, hesitant.  
  
Angelus laughed again, and went to stroke Drusilla's dark hair. She arched her neck backwards into the caress. "You're jealous. Don't be. You're both important, in your different ways."  
  
"My Daddy," Drusilla put in, twisting and standing to kiss her sire lasciviously on the lips. Luc looked away. Angelus returned the kiss, and then glanced over his shoulder at Luc.  
  
"What are you staring at, Luc? Leave us."  
  
Luc nodded, and picking up his book left the room. He could not see himself ever growing to like his new "sister".  
  
-----  
  
* "Excuse me [...] We're lost, can you help us please?" 


End file.
